


Coffee and Ink

by Beepun



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mentions of Blood, Panic Attack, mentions of gore, referenced past crime
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-01
Updated: 2020-09-06
Packaged: 2021-03-06 14:42:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,823
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26230606
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Beepun/pseuds/Beepun
Summary: No, Gerry will be home, in a moment or an hour and oddly enough, it’s Martin who’ll be doing the calming. He deserves that much, at least, after the absolute hell he’d gone through. He’d visited him as much as possible, though he’d leave the prison feeling as though every part of his heart was left behind with Gerry’s soft broken smiles.Gerry struggles back home, Martin is there to offer support.
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Gerard Keay
Comments: 12
Kudos: 41





	1. Coffee

**Author's Note:**

> A little late but this is for TMACHweek   
> Prompt: Messy Breakdown / Panic Attack + Blindfolded + Home

Martin prepares another cup of tea as he waits, the analog clock ticking away on the opposing wall making a mockery of seconds gone to waste. 

He wants nothing more than to hit the fast forward button on his life, just a few hours into the future when the worry turned to stone in his stomach will surely fade. Instead, every second feels eternal and endless. 

He moves from the kitchen to the living room just so that he can justify the pacing to himself. Gerry’s not here to sit him down and work him through a panic, strong hands in his and soothing words like a balm to his wounded soul. 

No, Gerry will be home, in a moment or an hour and oddly enough, it’s Martin who’ll be doing the calming. He deserves that much, at least, after the absolute hell he’d gone through. He’d visited him as much as possible, though he’d leave the prison feeling as though every part of his heart was left behind with Gerry’s soft broken smiles. 

_ I’m tough _ , Gerry had said, voice empty and eyes gazing somewhere far away. His youthful love had aged in those months apart, becoming thin and ghostly. It hurt. It was terrifying to see how much Gerry changed, how little comfort and strength Martin could offer him. He’d written letters, made phone calls, made visits. And Gerry still seemed to waste away.  _ Don’t worry about me _ .

Some part of Martin was terrified that a very fundamental part of the man he loved had been broken, changed, and twisted into something he would never recognize again. 

His grip on the mug tightened, lips pressed into a thin line. 

There were far worse things to fear. 

A knock at the door startled him out of his thoughts, sending hot tea spilling over his fingertips. He cursed silently, placing the cup down on the coffee table before rushing to the door. Tidying his pullover and taking a steadying breath, he opened the door.

Gerry stood in front of him, pale as a ghost. His hair, once a striking black that reached his waist was blond and rested at his shoulders. He looked like a frightened creature, hopeful and eager for comfort but ready to flee at the first sight of trouble. 

He looked like a shadow of the man who had swept Martin off his feet, but Martin’s heart still sang at the sight of him. 

“I-Wel-” He tried,  _ welcome home _ , he’d practiced it, he’d practiced it so many times for this moment but there could be nothing to truly prepare him for Gerry being back in arms distance. Gerry didn’t just return home, he’d brought home back with him. Martin stepped forward, and Gerry returned the motion by crashing into him with full force.

Gerry wrapped strong but lanky arms around him, his face pressed into the crook of Martin’s neck as Martin encased him in an embrace of his own. It was, even with the physical change, it was as though he simply belonged there. Safe in his arms where nothing could or would ever hurt him again. 

Without thinking, Martin pressed a kiss to the side of Gerry’s head, a casual affection that had been so normal and easy before. Gerry tensed in his arms, held him tighter, and sobbed. 

“Oh god, Gerry!” 

“I didn’t do it, I didn't!” He sobbed, body shaking and slumped against Martin. “I swear, I didn’t.”

Martin’s heart breaks. Of course, he didn’t, of course, he never could. Gerry with all his cool confidence was the kindest man Martin had ever met. His words were never sharp unless in the defense of someone else. Gerry was, before anything else, fundamentally good. 

Martin held him close, reaffirming that he’d always known Gerry was innocent. That anyone could look at a traumatized and terrified son and think he’d had any say in what happened to his mother was unfathomable. 

“Of course, of course,” He said. Gerry sobbed and Martin let him.

* * *

It had been a week since Gerry returned to their flat and Martin was hiding something. 

He didn’t think it was a bad something, but there was certainly something there. 

Martin still smiled the same, still held him the same, still made sweet little noises when they laid in bed together and Gerry took his time taking him apart. But there was something behind his sweet brown eyes that chilled him down to the bone. It made his skin crawl and his breath hitch, those moments when Martin didn’t realize Gerry had caught him looking. 

Martin is afraid. It makes Gerry want to drown. 

They’re at the corner store getting groceries when it happens. He’s done a pretty good job of keeping himself together after his initial outburst upon his arrival. He stands at the edge of a cliff, peering over to an endless sea of turmoil. It’s black waters urge him forward, the smell of blood a permanent feature in Gerry’s life now. No matter what, he can’t escape that smell. 

That’s fine, because he can lose himself to the other side of that cliff. In the soft ignorant world that Martin anchors him to. Where no one knows of beasts or monsters or books made of flesh and blood. It’s not safer there, but there is an illusion of safety that he can at least pretend to lose himself in. He's been doing good. 

“Oh!” Martin says, his voice a sweet chime that cuts through all the heavy fog of Gerry’s thoughts. He wants to bask in Martin’s voice forever, the very sound of it grounding him. Gerry smiles despite himself. “I forgot to get coffee, we haven’t had any in a while.”

And by  _ we _ he means  _ him _ . Martin actively avoids coffee. Gerry considered a good black cup of coffee essential to a good day. It used to be part of his routine. Wake up, admire his sleeping love, and then go to the kitchen to prepare coffee for himself and tea for Martin. Martin said he’d come to love the smell of it, associating it with mornings at Gerry’s. Yet Martin didn’t restock it in his absence. 

It has to be that, the reminder that there was a time with and without, months of Gerry’s life lost for a crime he did not commit. It has to be the remainder of that time, one his mind barely likes to skip across. There’s before and then there’s after, but there is no time spent in that blank. 

It has to be that reminder that sends his heart plummeting in his chest and leaves his ribs rattling with every breath. Gerry stops walking, tries to catch himself as a flash of heat crawls through his body and leaves him dizzy. He shakes his head, pushing down nausea when his fingers start to prick and he’s certain he’s dying. 

“Love?” Martin’s voice rings in waves. 

“I-I’m fine,” Gerry responds, leaning over as he tries to catch his breath. His head feels light and his stomach feels sick and Martin is putting hands on his shoulders. Gerry blinks and he’s on the ground, sitting with his back against rows of oats while Martin sits beside him, an arm slung over his shoulder. His hand rubs his arm, and he’s telling Gerry to breathe. In and out, follow his movements. 

Gerry does. He wants to cry. Martin would let him cry. 

“What are five things you see?” Martin asks, and Gerry blinks at the question. His mind races to catch up, even though nausea makes him fear opening his mouth. 

“You,” He says, confused and unsure. Martin smiles encouragingly. “Um, y-you’re wearing my pin. My hands. T-This filthy floor you sat us on. Brand of cereal we hate?”

“Good.” Martin smiles and Gerry craves to make him smile always. If he’s dying, then he wants Martin to smile for him. “What are um, what are four things you can touch right now?” 

Gerry frowns, feels the way his face must alert his confusion. Martin at least has the decency to appear embarrassed. “Just trust me, okay?”

“Okay. I can touch you. You’re-” Gerry pressed a hand to Martin’s arm, fingers curling into the soft fabric of his sweater. “-wearing my favorite sweater of yours to wear. I uh,” Gerry touches one of the chains on his pants and looks up to Martin for approval. Martin nods. “My chain? Um, this dirty ass floor.” 

“Good!” Martin huffs a laugh, and Gerry feels like he’s won a small victory. “Three things you can hear?” 

“Shitty music. Other people. Um, cashier machine?” 

“Two things you can smell?” 

Gerry freezes, terrified. He bites his lip and takes a breath. There’s no blood, no coffee. “Store. And your strawberry shampoo.” 

“Oh!” Martin goes a slight pink. “Okay, um. One...one thing you can taste?” 

He can’t help mustering the flattest look he can give Martin, feeling just a tiny bit of pride when Martin flusters.  _ Just trust me _ , and Gerry does. He sighs, looking down with a note of surprise to find their hands linked. Martin’s rubbing his thumb along his knuckles so softly, so carefully, that Gerry feels his eyes start to sting. He swallows painfully, turning back to Martin and quickly pressing a kiss to his cheek. “You.” 

“Th-that's not, that doesn’t count. But okay.” Martin gives his hand a squeeze. “How are you feeling?” 

“Better,” Gerry decides after a moment, meaning it despite the exhaustion that wants to crash over him. “How did you…?”

“Um, did some reading.” Soft fingers graze over his hand, grounding him there. “We should go home, get you some rest.” 

“It’s fine, Martin.” Gerry tries to push down the flare of irritation. Martin had every right to be concerned, all things considered. Still. 

“But Gerry-”

“No, just-Can you finish up? I’ll wait outside. Need some fresh air, probably.” He says, pushing himself off the floor. There are other people in the store, he notes, though most just walk past the aisle when they see them. He starts walking when a hand engulfs his and he’s forced to look down at Martin. 

Martin with his worried eyes, a hint of that fear swirling with concern. He looks so young, so unsure as he stares up at Gerry. He can’t help but wonder what his life would have been like had he met Martin sooner, where he’d have ended up without him. It couldn’t have been much better, but it certainly would have been so much worse. 

“Just be careful, alright?” He says as he stands and brings Gerry’s hand up to kiss it. “I’ll be right out.” 

So Gerry goes outside to wait, exhaustion settling on his bones and making his eyes water. The cool night air gives him something else to feel. He’d left his cigarettes back at the flat, so he settled for huffing little clouds of breath. He does not think about what happened in the store. 

It’s not much later that Martin calls out to him. He turns, finding the taller man removing his large sweater and without a moment of hesitation, he wraps it around Gerry. He blinks, tries to formulate a joke about how he’ll have to fuss over Martin, but he’s cut off as Martin gently cups his face. 

“Oh, my beautiful man,” His voice is full of an unearned devotion that knocks the air from his lungs. Martin wipes a thumb gently under his eye, and Gerry belatedly realizes he is crying. “My heart, my world, my everything.”  Gerry chokes back a sob, the words  _ I didn’t do it _ spilling out before he can stop them. Martin all but envelops Gerry in his arms, pulling him close to his chest as though he could keep him safe with nothing but his will alone. As Gerry cries, he cannot help give in to the safety that comes from being loved. 


	2. Ink

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So Gerry is left with an aversion to mirrors and a terror he cannot make sense of.  
> But he is doing better.  
> He tells Martin so, and his sweet man looks at him kindly and believes him as much as he can when the cracks are so clearly visible in Gerry’s lies.

It is three weeks after Gerry has returned home and he is tired of seeing his mother’s face every time he sees his reflection.

He thought Martin might have noticed, but his fear of being dubbed a killer in his lover’s eyes lies dead somewhere in the past. Martin only ever sees him, through and through. 

He thought the new neighbors might have noticed, that the cashier who rings up their groceries would run away in terror at the sight of Gerard Keay, the man who made pages out of his mother’s body. 

But the world has already moved on to the next atrocity. 

So Gerry is left with an aversion to mirrors and a terror he cannot make sense of. 

But he is doing better. 

He tells Martin so, and his sweet man looks at him kindly and believes him as much as he can when the cracks are so clearly visible in Gerry’s lies. 

Gerry is grateful every day that Mary broke his heart and not Martin. Martin sees him for himself, Martin sees Gerry and knows the person Gerry wants to be, took stock of how far he had left to go and decided to cheer him on. 

Gerry is getting better. 

He has had two panic attacks since the world opened up from underneath him at the grocery store. Once while Martin was at work and he tried to make coffee, only for the smell of it too -

- _ Screaming, a world-shattering sound. A woman holding her kids closer. The staff calling the police. Gerry slumps in the chair, hands wet and red as the scent of copper mixes with- _

-And he’d had to pull himself together. He’d used the breathing exercises Martin taught him and cleaned up the spilled coffee before throwing the entire tin out. 

Martin made him talk about it. No, Gerry knows that’s not fair, he just sat there perfect and willing, his heart on his sleeve for Gerry to make a home of it. They’d discussed it, as far as Gerry had been comfortable, even when Martin tried to keep the flashes of fear and horror off his face. Martin was a very good listener, and Gerry adored him for it. 

Another time, he’s not particularly certain what triggered him that time. One moment he was fine, watering his plants while Martin sang offkey and purposefully annoying in the background.  _ Nothing better than doing a bit your partner hates _ , he had thought. And then he’d felt like breathing was impossible. And then he felt that he was dying. 

Martin had sat him down, tried to get past the veil of panic and terror making Gerry’s mind hazy and it wasn’t until there was a cold biting pain in his hand that Gerry managed to pull himself together. Martin pressed a single ice cube into his hand. Gerry blinked up at him, felt his heart shatter at the way Martin held his tears back, his lashes wet and clumped together. 

_ “I’m sorry,”  _ Martin had said he removed the melting cube from his hand.  _ “You scared me there, I thought - I just. I wouldn’t know what to do if anything happened to you, Gerry.” _

Martin loved him. Despite Gerry’s misgivings. The thought made him dizzy sometimes, as though he’d entered the Spirals hallway and been spit out into a better world. It made him cry sometimes, that after being covered in blood and skin and Mary’s hateful words he had a home to come back to. That he had someone who looked past the blood as though it had never been there, who kissed him gently and kept him company while he pieced himself back together. 

He’s doing better now, anyways. 

They’re at the store again. Standing in front of the hair dye isle because Gerry is tired of seeing his mother looking back at him every time he tries to get ready for the day. Martin’s standing behind him, chin hooked over Gerry’s shoulder as he points to increasingly ridiculous colors to dye his hair. 

“You think I can’t rock pastel pink?”

“Wouldn’t hot pink work better for your whole punk aesthetic?”

“Christ, it’s  _ Goth _ , Martin. There is a difference.” 

“I know Goth,” Martin presses a kiss to his cheek. “Think you missed the mark on that one, love.”

“Unbelievable. What does Massachusettes Martin know about Goth?” Gerry cracks a smile as Martin groans and steps away from him. 

“When are you going to let that go?” He asks in a voice so annoyed Gerry can’t help but feel proud. Martin lowers himself to get a better look at the boxes on the lower shelf. 

“When it stops being funny.” He says, picking up a box of the same black hair dye he always gets. Martin frowns and keeps his well-meaning hair care recommendations to himself. Gerry smiles. “Look at you, indulging my bad habits.” 

“W-Well I just think, if it makes you happy then so be it.” He holds out a hand for Gerry to help him back up, and Gerry keeps his hold on it even when he’s standing tall. “I am just a mild-mannered Massachussetes man who wants his boyfriend to be happy, after all.”

“Oh god, no.” Gerry laughs, leaning into Martin for a quick kiss to his cheek. “You? Mild-mannered? Never.”

They make it back home without any issue. Gerry counts it as a win. He is winning. He’s not sure against what. But he is getting better. He can go out in public and be around people without paranoia making him want to fall apart. He is integrating himself well into society.

Martin can go to work and soon, Gerry will be back...to doing something. He stares at the paint boxes in his hands as the thought hits him. What is he supposed to do now? Now that Mary is gone and the bookstore is there empty? What comes next, outside of the safe bubble he’s allowed himself to hide in, wanting for nothing but another word from his lover. 

The world outside is not as kind as Gerry wants it to be. That is why he needs to get his shit together. 

Step on, stop looking like his mother. 

“Oh! I thought we’d dye it after dinner?” Martin comes up from behind him, wrapping his arms around his waist as he ducks down to kiss the slope of Gerry’s neck. 

“Kinda wanted to get started on it now,” Gerry knows Martin doesn’t mind the blond hair, but it itches at something in him and he truly cannot stand it now that the solution is literally in his hands. He leans into Martin’s comforting embrace as he stares at the boxes. “I can get started. Have it done before dinner is ready.”

“Hmm.” Martin hums in the way when he doesn’t actually believe what Gerry’s told him, a  _ are you sure that’s a good idea _ sort of hum. Gerry turns, presses his mouth to Martin’s, and knows he’s caught him off guard when his hold slips. 

“Don’t doubt me,” He says as they part. Martin’s gone pink, the sort of color that washes out the freckles on his face and makes him look young. Gerry likes the look. 

“I-I’ll get dinner ready then.” 

“Can’t wait.” And then because he can, he throws his arms around Martin’s neck to bring him down for another kiss. It’s sweeter than intended, Martin placing his hands on Gerry’s hips as he kisses him softly. 

“Gerry,” He feels a thrill shoot down his spine at the way Martin says his name, like it belongs there home in his mouth. Like he’s a gift Martin is always pleased to receive. “God, I like you so, so much.” Martin smiles, eyes scrunched up from the warmth in his chest. Gerry feels it too, like the sun has risen and made his blood honey and wine. 

“Do you like  _ like _ me-” Gerry starts as Martin snorts a laugh and gently shoves his shoulder. 

“Go dye your hair,  _ God _ .”

Gerry goes easily, absolutely smitten. It’s simple enough and Martin will be there when he’s done. Better yet, Gerry will be himself again when he’s done. 

He will have ruined his mother’s perfect image of himself again, no Keay or Von Closen dynasty to proudly continue. No ghost hunter extraordinaire, just Gerry. Gerry with his shitty dark hair and his shitty attitude and his shitty lighter for burning books.    
Except. Gerry sighs, except for the fact that Martin says Gerry never had a bad attitude. Except for the fact that Mary is the one who ruined him. From the start. 

_ That’s the trouble with believers _ , he thinks,  _ if you double down too much they break _ . And break away Gerry did. 

He runs a comb through his short hair and quickly peeks out of the bathroom to hear Martin shuffling about in the kitchen. He’s got a radio playing something jazzy, and Gerry grins to himself at the telltale sounds of feet shuffling. 

With Martin preoccupied, Gerry puts on his gloves and goes in with the brown dye first. Before Martin had stepped in to help, Gerry had grabbed one box of black dye and called it a day. Martin had liked him back then, he liked him now, regardless of hair color. But Gerry liked making Martin feel heard. So he prepares the dye and starts working it into his hair.

It’s a familiar ritual, something that lets his mind wander while his body works. He’s done it enough times to let himself relax, straining to hear to whatever song Martin’s listening to. It’s something with a shrieking woman and a hard drum line that Gerry had introduced him to. At the time, it had just seemed funny for his apparently honey-sweet boyfriend to listen to death metal. Now, his heart blooms in the little way Martin’s loved the things important to him. 

The dye is red in Gerry’s hair, matting down blond strands of hair. It is red, and he is getting better. It is red as he works it into the strands of blond. It is red, seeping through as he stares. Red on his skin - 

- _ The smell of copper, the sound of water dripping. An agonized groan as Gerry’s footsteps echoed along the empty bookstore. There is something in the back. A monster that Gerry will no doubt have to be friendly with while his mother works. But the smell of copper is strong enough to gag him, setting his nerves alight like a live wire.  _ -

Gerry takes a breath, his knuckles turned white with the strength of his grip on the sink. He does not look at himself, at his hands covered in that unmistakable copper. 

“Don’t be an idiot.” He tells himself, wiping at his cheek. The glove leaves a streak, and Gerry can only bark a weak laugh at his mistake -

\-  _ Mary is alone in the room. The flesh of her thighs, stomach, and breasts are left to dry over old laundry lines repurposed. She turns to Gerry, blue eyes frantic and skin pale as she bleeds out. She finally looks happy to see him _ \- 

The smell of blood has never left Gerry. It has been with him far longer than he’s known of a world free of monsters. He scrambles backward, tripping over his own feet as bile rises to his throat. He doubles over, barely making it to the toilet as he retches. It burns his throat, his nose, and his eyes sting. And there is blood in his hair -

- _ “Gerry.” She says, his name accompanied by a wet groan as she takes a painful step towards him. The world falls apart and does not hold. Skin drips blood and undried ink into pools beneath. Mary finally looks happy to see him. She is all eyes, all terror, and muscle and blood gleaming in the low light.  _

_ “Help me finish.” She demands, she pleads. “I need you to finish for me, be a good boy and finish.” She is all teeth, a box cutter in her pale thin hands.  _

_ She thrusts it at Gerry.  _

_ He falls.  _

_ There is blood on his hands, seeping through the knees of his pants. There is blood in his hair. _

_ Gerry screams, Gerry runs.  _

_ There is a coffee shop nearby.  _

_ There is a coffee shop nearby.  _

_ He tries to ask for help. He sees his fear reflected in their faces. A mother holds her children closer. Someone screams.  _

_ There are arms around him.  _

_ There are arms around him. _

_ There are - _

_ - _ Martin has moved him out of the bathroom, sat him down on the sofa as the world unfurls from Gerry’s fingertips once more. He looks scared, staring down at Gerry. He looks scared. 

Gerry breaks. 

“Oh god!” And Martin is there, kneeling in front of him as Gerry sobs heavy tears and heavy heaving breaths. 

“I didn’t fucking do it,” He wants to say, but it comes out a plea. “I didn’t, I swear Martin I didn’t fucking touch her-”

“I know, I know love.” 

But that’s the problem, isn’t it? 

The truth washes over, slow like ice in his veins until Gerry’s struggling to get a breath in. 

He could have finished. He could have bound her. She could still exist. 

But Gerry left her to die. 

He chokes on a sob. 

“I killed her, I-If I’d- I’d gotten there sooner, I didn’t help- I-I killed her, Martin. I killed her.”

Martin looks broken. Looks as broken as Gerry feels. He expects him to leave, to rush to the phone, and call the police. To decide that Gerry belongs in a world to different from his own.

That this is too heavy a burden to carry.

Instead, Martin reaches for his hand and holds it between his own. 

“No...No.” His voice is wet, his eyes are wet. Gerry hardly notes that the stained gloves are off his hands. “Of course you didn’t, how could you have? Had-had the time.” 

Gerry looks at him. Blinks. 

“W-We-I just. Eyewitnesses saw you enter the bookstore and bolt out covered in blood in-in less than two minutes Gerry. T-The damage she did?  _ She _ did-You couldn’t have. Not you,” And then a soft hand is wiping away his tears. He jumps at the contact and presses into it as though Martin could save him. “You are a good man, Gerry. You loved your mom. You’d never hurt anyone you love. You did everything right. I will never forgive her for hurting you like this.” 

And Gerry cries at the unyielding trust in Martin’s voice. Martin moves to sit beside him, a comforting, a comforting arm wrapping around his shoulders.

“You don’t get it,” He says, “I-I’m not good. I-I could have finished the book-I could have. I couldn’t-I don’t-”

If he’d bound the pages of Mary’s book, Gerry never would have left her world. He knows that now, but at that moment, when she’d tried to give him the box cutter, all Gerry could see was blood and ink and flesh. 

“I was a coward.” He says miserably as his tears run out.

Martin looks at him with concern, his beautiful eyes are stormy with a thousand thoughts. 

“Was she doing something...spooky?” He asks, simple as that. 

“Yes.” A simple answer. 

Martin takes a breath, straightens his back, and lets the breath out in a steady motion. 

“It wasn’t your fault. If finishing the book would have saved her, maybe she should have-have I don’t know, planned it out with you instead of springing it up like a last minute detail.” 

There is a slow anger in Martin’s voice, a tone he takes when he talks about landlords and people who are rude to waiters. 

“That’s not-not the sort of world we’re from, Martin.” 

“I don’t see how that’s your fault.” He says, and something about that makes Gerry flinch. Martin deflates at that. “It hurts to see you like this.” 

“You’re scared of me,” Gerry says, like a reminder that leaves a bitter taste in his mouth. The way Martin looks at him, surprised and confused as he makes a sound like a deflating balloon makes Gerry want to disappear. 

“No...No Gerry. Of course not,” And Gerry believes him. Believes the adoration in Martin’s eyes and the soft tone of his voice. He wants to make a home there, it’s the steadiest foundation he’s ever found. “I-I am scared, of course, of what this means for  _ you _ . How this hurt  _ you _ . A-And I don’t know much about books or whatever Mary was trying to do-”

“Because I don’t want you to know.” Gerry hates it. Hates how much he’s asking of Martin. Hates how willing Martin is to give. 

“Right.” Martin brings a hand to his cheek, guiding him to look at him. “I don’t know much about-about what happened. But I know you are afraid. And I know you are scared and lost, and I-I will never understand it. S-So, so I won’t let you be alone. Because nothing scares me more than the thought of you going through this alone. Not while I am here to look after you. I just want you to be okay, no matter how long it takes, yeah?” 

“Yeah,” The word spills out of Gerry, his throat tight and his body aching. He sniffles and tucks himself closer to Maritn. His words pulled at the raw wounds festering in his heart, in his lungs and smoothed them out. “What if it takes forever?” 

“I hope not,” Strong arms wrap around him, soft hands gently pat his back. “I hope there comes a time when this hurts you less, or you think of it less often. I hope the hurt heals, Gerry. You deserve that. You deserve for this to never have happened to you, I am so sorry it did.” 

Happened to him.  _ Happened to him _ . Mary had happened to him. Just more dumb bad luck of all the dumb back luck in the world. 

“I hope you’re with me.” He sighs, nuzzling into the soft fabric of Martin’s sweater. “I hope you’re with me forever. Is that selfish?” 

“Hm, no? You know I am certainly there in the future hoping it hurts you less too. G-I mean. I am the jealous sort, who else are you imagining with you in the future?” A light teasing tone, like a cool breeze on a warm spring day. 

“You, only you.” Gerry pulls away, a thank you on his lips that ends up a splutter at the red-brown dye smeared all over Martin’s sweater and neck. “Oh god, my hair. Fuck that’s my favorite sweater.”

Martin grimaces and clicks his teeth. “Yeah, that’s uh, not a good thing.” 

Gerry stares. Again a silent frozen terror begins to buzz around his head. Martin must notice, because he takes his hand. 

“Tell me what you need, I’m here, love.” 

He is, isn’t he? Gerry laughs, though it sounds like a sob. He wipes his tears and leans to press a kiss to Martin. 

“I’m a bloody fucking mess, Martin. Stop being so sweet, I’ll never let you leave.” 

“Sounds like a good plan to me,” Martin says, confident as anything. 

Gerry watches him, just for a moment, his personal deity. There needn’t be gods of love or hunger or care, not with people like Martin already walking around bravely in the face of fear. That is enough, at the end of the day, a life beside Martin is enough. 

“I don’t want to see it. But I can’t, uh, can’t leave this on my head.” 

“Oh, Oh! Okay, um. I will do your hair, you keep your eyes closed and let me know if you’re needing a break?”

“Yeah, sure.” 

“Um, hold on.” Martin gets up and disappears into the bathroom, returning quickly with a small towel. “Hold it over your eyes? Less chances.” 

He takes it and folds it into a rectangle before holding it over his eyes. 

“Lead the way.” 

Martin guides him slow and steady back to the bathroom. He leaves him for a moment and returns with a chair for Gerry to sit in before helping him dip his head into the sink. 

It takes longer to wash the dye out of his hair than necessary, but Gerry cannot voice a complaint. Not when Martin takes extra care to get the water perfect. Not when he runs his fingers through his hair, scratching gently at his scalp. There is a gentle love in all of his actions, chipping away at the pain in his heart until it is raw and new and full of the man who takes care of Gerry as though he is something precious. 

It’s a tiring thing, feeling so much all in one day. As Martin massages his head, with far more care than he’s ever been touched in his life, Gerry feels himself come home. In all his years by Mary’s side, there had never been such an easy acceptance of a nurturing safety. But Martin opened his heart and laid it down for him and said  _ stay here, I will keep you warm _ . 

“Do you need me to stop?” Martin’s soft question makes him laugh. He can’t help the tears that sting his eyes as he shakes his head. 

“It’s fine,” He says through tears. “I’m just really in love with you, you know?” 

Martin replies with a soft hum. “I love you too.”

He pat’s Gerry’s hair dry with a towel, parts the hair that is already dyed with careful precision and talks to Gerry about something his co-workers at the store did. Gerry listens to the sweet lull of his voice, eyes closed behind the safety of the towel. It’s safe there in the darkness, surrounded by the gentle touch of a man who has only ever loved him. 

It takes longer than he realizes. Martin leaves the brown dye in the rest of his hair long enough to order take out. And then washes it out and leaves in conditioner, although neither of them can agree if it will make a difference. 

By the time Martin’s washed the black hair dye from his hair, Gerry is ready to fall asleep. Martin blow-dries his hair and presses kisses to his head, his cheeks, his shoulders, as though to keep reminding him that there is someone in his corner. 

“I’m tired, love.” He says. 

“You should eat first.” Martin places a hand on his shoulder, giving a soft squeeze. “I’ll heat it, we can eat in bed?” 

“Stop indulging my bad habits.” He smiles. 

A warm breath tickles his skin as Martin’s nose bumps with his. Then, Martin kisses him softly and slowly.

“Never,” He says simply when they part. 

When Martin leaves the room, Gerry lets the makeshift blindfold fall. It lays in his lap as he brings a hand to thread through his hair. 

Gerry looks into the mirror, and for the first time since he ran out of Pinhole Books, he finally sees himself. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Massachussetts Martin is a play on Connecticut Clark. Thank you to everyone who reads this or leaves comments or kudos!  
> Im over at beesabuzzin on tumblr if you wanna chat!

**Author's Note:**

> Back at it again with more Martin and Gerry. This kind of got away from me so I broke it up into two chapters.   
> Enjoy!


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